Srikanthwas advisedto go to some place far, away from where
he lived now. His nerves were not in their best form. He needed to get away
from memories. Dr.Naidu, his psychiatrist had recommended himKasoli-a hill station far away from city life. Amidst the sea of green
trees with various flora, Dr.Naiduthought Sri would be just alright. Dr.Naiduwas wrong.You can’t get away from
yourself by moving one place to another.

***

Wearing his favorite sky blue shirt and
blue denim jeans, Sri was driving past the lush green orchids, drinking the
serene beauty with his eyes. The giant mountains, proudly flaunting their crown
of snow; the tall pine trees trying to grasp the blue sky; and the sound of the
divine silence. It was like a paradise. Sri passed by a deer and a doe and saw
a small wooden cottage by the side of a brook. Dr.Naiduhas booked the place for his stay. It was beautiful. A short, bald
man in his fifties came to Sri and greeted him.

“Let me take your luggage.” Kris took
his luggage out of the car and went in the cottage. A black raven was staring
at him with its eyesblood-red. It cawed continuously.

Something is not right.Sri thought and went inside the cottage.

***

After a hot water bath at the cottage,
Sri took out his car and went on to explore the surroundingscenarios. Just as his car passed a
small stream of river, he heard a sound. A whisper: “Never go on trips with anyone you do not love.” With the sound of screeching tyres the
car came to a stop. Sri was terrified. He looked around and saw nothing. Then
his eyes met a scene which made his stomach churn inside out. It was the samedoeand the deer he saw when he entered the village. But the scene he
was seeing now was unbelievable. The doe was eating the deer’s flesh. Its face covered
with red blood of its partner. Sri felt likepuking. He wanted to go away as soon as possible. He turned on the
ignition; put the 1stgear pushed the accelerator. The car wasn’t moving. He applied
full force on the accelerator pedal. NOTHING. He left the car and dashed his
way out into the woods.

***

He ran and ran till he could. When he
was all out of breath he found himself near the cottage he was residing in. He
went in and found Kris sharpening a knife on a stone and mumbling something to
himself. Sri listened carefully andwas terrified.

“I will kill him. I will kill him for you. When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You
wish to serve. I will serve you. I will sacrifice him for you. For our
love.”

Sri saw a small picture placed before Kris. It was his wife’s
photograph. Without saying a word he moved out of the cottage quickly. As
he turned, blood drained down his face. He was sure he was dreaming.

This can’t
be true. He thought

What he saw was a man in late twenties, with
sky blue shirt and blue denim jeans. Sri was seeing himself. It was like the
image from the mirror jumped out into the real world and is standing before him.

“Ww..who are you?” a terrified Sri asked.

“I amSrikanth.” Came a chilling whisper that made the hair on his back stand.

“It…It cccan’t be. I…I…I amSrikanth.” Sri noticed he was crying.

“I know. I am you and you are me. It’s dangerous, you know?”
replied a whispering shriek.

Sri managed all his courage to ask, “What… What is dangerous?”

“When you start to live outside yourself, it’s all dangerous.”

That was the last sentence Sri heard before everything got dark
and silent.

***

A week after the incident, Sri opened his eyes and stared at the
white ceiling fan. He looked around and saw beds with white sheets. He knew he
was in hospital. He remembered what had happened to him but shrugged it off as
a dream. Whatever it was, his conscience told him, it just can’t be true. It
was a mere dream.

Dr.Naiduentered the room with another doctor by his side. He looked
familiar. He was bald and in his fifties. The entire incident came crashing
back before his eyes. The man resembled Kris, the caretaker at the cottage.
Krishna Nath. Sri was sweating, his eyes rolled up and he fainted again. Dr.Naidushowed no surprise. He knew it was normal. The report in his hand
read:

Name:SrikanthRao

Age : 29 Yrs.

Sentenced to 10 years of rigorous imprisonment for murder of his
wife.

Suffering from: Schizophrenia and Hallucination.

***

Sri was standing beside Dr.Naidu. He can see himself deep in sleep, his body lay on the bed. He
saw the black raven with bloodshot eyes staring at him and cawing continuously.
He heard Dr.Naidusay to the other doctor:

“He told me about some caretaker named
Kris Nath. You know, when you jumble up the words it becomesSrikanth. He told me he was hearing voices and that everyone was trying to
kill him. Again, a common symptom of schizophrenia. Poor Sri, he thinks it is something
supernatural. He is wrong. The truth is so simple. It’s all in his mind.”

Standing beside Dr. Naidu, Sri smiled a
sinister smile. He can see his unconscious body still lying on the bed. He knew Dr. Naidu couldn't see him. He can only see his limp body on the hospital bed. The
raven cawed for one last time and flew off the tree. Dr.Naidufroze with fear as he heard a whisper.

“The
truth is never simple doctor. You know why? Because there’s no one thing that’s
true. It’s all true.”

Saturday, 9 November 2013

This post may be a week old but I was busy with the Diwali After-effects.

Diwali has always been my favorite festival. Apart from crackers and sweets, flames of earthen lamps make my heart beat faster. Being in a joint family where every family member get together on this occasion, it becomes in the true sense "THE FESTIVAL". The beautiful light, the ambiance they produce is truly indescribable. Here are some of the pictures I took from my cellphone.

FIRST STEP : LIGHTING THE AWESOMELY BEAUTIFUL EARTHEN LAMPS

Every corner of the house immersed in LIGHT.

And then the house glows with the hues of flames.

STEP TWO : AARTI IN OLD RAJASTHANI STYLE

STEP 3: LIGHTING UP OF CHIRAAG

STEP FOUR : LIGHTING UP THE SACRED SHELF OF KULDEVI (ANCESTRAL GODDESS).

Saturday, 2 November 2013

I seldom write personal experiences. The inspiration for this post is Parama Ghosh's blog - potpourri. A few days ago she wrote a beautiful piece titled MONOCHROME. This is just an attempt on my part to try something new on this auspicious occasion of Diwali.

DISCLAIMER: The incident took place on 31st October. That's when the birthday was. It is being posted here today because of technical problems. (You will find many such problems below. So enjoy). There is no intention or motive to defame our beloved language "ENGLISH". The instances of text messages in acronyms (eg. u [you], m [am], txt [text], cm 2 me, etc.) are purely for the sake of reality. Some might do it for "Koolness". I do it to save word limits and time. We do sometimes want words to be typed quickly on a cellphone. A wise man once said: "Feelings matter, not words." Enough of disclaimer. Let's start with an awesome quote:

"Some don't believe in God. Some are devotees. I am neither. I just like to blame Him for everything."

-- Shreyansh Chouradia

***

It seems more than just a coincidence when you tread back the memory lane and think of how some people enter your life and become so important. Without any reason. You meet them and you have a feeling; a 'something' that tells you that he/she is special. No I am not talking about my girlfriend. I am talking of a girl very special to both me and my girl friend. We call her Rupa di.

That 'special someone' had birthday. I set the date on my cellphone's planner and then waited for the day. 31st October. Ok. So, I had plans.

1. To wish her Happy B'day right at 12.00.

2. To send her gift.

3. To surprise her with the above gift.

But then, that sadistic creature we so lovingly call GOD had different plans. Plans to ruin my sacred plans.

Now I shall tell you how Mr. GOD ruined my plans.

Plan no. 1 - WISH HER RIGHT AT 12.00.

Cliché as it may be, it is now a universal protocol that you must wish a person close to you at 12.00.

I looked at my watch and became ready. I took a warm bath and waited for the hands of the clock to embrace each other at 12.00

11.40 pm: I composed a birthday message.

11.55 pm: The battery died. Shit!

I plugged in the white, short-tailed charger of my galaxy note 2 and waited.

11. 58 pm: The cellphone had 2 % battery. Enough to send a message and place a call.

11.59 pm: I touched the cellphone's screen and started searching her name in the contacts. Found it and dialed the number. A beep and nothing...

I dialed again and found out there was no network.

Damn!

The clock struck 12 and then 12.15 pm. After a good 15 minutes I called her. The number was busy. That was obvious. I sent her the message I had composed for her and then started searching on the internet for floral services for delivering gift.

That marks the end of our plan no. 1: WISH HER AT 12.00

***

Plan no.2 : TO SEND (place order) HER GIFT.

After searching long on the internet for the gifts and flora I selected a package, entered her address where it was to be delivered and proceeded to 'net banking payment' option. After a few minutes I was staring at a blue and white site. The SBI homepage. It begged me for logging in and I obliged.

*invalid username or password*

I typed again.

*invalid username and password*

Again.

*invalid username and password*

*Due to three unsuccessful attempts you have been blocked for the day*

I knew my account was hacked. So was my plan no.2 : SEND HER GIFT.

***

Plan no.3 : THE SURPRISE.

Okay. So, my account was hacked. I wasn't concerned because it only had a sum of five thousand rupees. Now what?

"Message your girlfriend." Said an inner voice. Though we were taking a silent break from each other because of last night argument, I thought I should message her and ask her to pay for the gift now. I shall pay her later.

I picked up the phone. The battery and network bars both were full. I typed the text in a hurry as we all do, setting fire to the pyre of grammatical rules :

Monday, 28 October 2013

"A nonet is a nine line poem. A nonet can be written on any subject. The poem starts with a line that has 9 syllables in it. The second line contains 8 syllables, the third line has 7 syllables and it continues to count down to one syllable in the final line (ninth line)... You can also write two stanzas by joining nonet and reverse nonet form."

Thursday, 24 October 2013

This is a post for write tribe 100 words on Saturday. The following piece contains 100 words exact.

***

I knew it was my last day there but I wasn't sad. I was burning with a desire to perish. My heart was melting but deep down there, I was content that I have helped to cure the darkness. I have been able to enlighten. I was able to achieve my goal. I have helped them to see the truth. I am dying for them. They might forget my sacrifice but I won't complain. I will burn proudly with a desire to perish.

***

In a moment, the last drop of candle wax fell on the table and the flame died.

Sunday, 6 October 2013

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 42; the forty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "COLOR"

SHE: Where you going?HE: DadarSHE: Virar. I have a date. I am so nervous. Do you like my black dress?HE: Black is my favourite color.The train stopped.He got up, pulled out a white cane and stumbled his way out. His words echoed in her ears "Black is my favourite color."_____________________________________

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 02

Monday, 12 August 2013

Once upon a time, very long ago,
like very very long long ago, king Daksh had a
daughter called Dakshayini, who happened to be a reincarnation of
Parvati. Unsurprisingly, she fell for our favourite God (Shiva) and married
him, much to the disappointment of the good king, who did not fancy him to be a
suitable son-in-law. Did they live happily ever after? I fear not.

<despite
the sarcasm oozing out of the author's every word, it is to be noted that she
really likes this story>

One day, the king decided to perform a homam, and when
kings decide to do anything, they do it with a BANG! Ergo, he invited every
living being in the world to bear witness to his awesomeness except Lord Shiva.
Needless to say, his daughter was more than a bit peeved at not receiving an
invite. Despite her husband's warning, she left their mountainous abode to make
her presence felt at her father's grand pooja.

On arriving there, her father, in one of his many
fatherly overbearing speeches, insulted her beloved before all those present.
Maddened with grief at finding her own dad so beside himself with hatred, she
did what Indian women always did, she jumped into the pooja's sacred fire.

<Hence, she was called Sati and millions of Hindus for generations to come
used her act of extreme devotion to conveniently dispose of their womenfolk>

Lord Shiva, as we all know, is a hard man to irk, but
irked he was when he found out his wife was dead. He arrived at the scene,
beside himself with rage and after pulling out his wife's half burnt body from
the sacred fire, he beheaded the now not so good king, opened his third eye, in
general made quite a scene and set out to destroy everything in his path
starting with Manmatha, the deity of love.

Now, the Gods were not too pleased with all the
devastation, so, following standard protocol, they rang for Lord Vishnu to sort
things out. Vishnu followed the enraged widower and cut off bits of Sati's
burning body till nothing was left for Shiva to carry.

<There are 21 or so
Shaktipeethas in this country, for each part of her body where a fire never
stops burning!!!!>

Shiva returned to his snowy household, determined to
meditate for the rest of his life or forever, whichever was longer.

But whatever happened to the homam? As we all know, it is
an act of the greatest degree of sin to leave a pooja unfinished and king Daksh
was feeling a little light in the head. The rishis hence called an emergency
meeting and, on espying a goat nearby, whistled innocuously and edged up close
to it and chopped off its head. Planting the goat's head on the king, they
succeeded in completing the homam.

Thus, the Chamakam was born(the reason the shlokas end the
way they do is because of the goat's head and the goat-y way of talking!! eg.
Godumashcha me, grihamcha me, mitramcha me, me me me me) [Author's note: 'me'
here's pronounced as 'may', she did not know how to get the little line above
the e to make this aspect of pronunciation clear to the reader.]